


Arthur's Fairy-tail

by teacuphuman



Series: Trope Bingo Card 2018 [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Evil Step Mother, Fancy-schmancy Balls, Goats are assholes unless they love you, M/M, Magical Couture, Misuse of Eggplants, Not Quite Cinderella, Parental death a la fairytale, Wish Fulfillment, fairytale style, loss of a shoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 21:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15567066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Arthur's life is ruled by his evil Step-Mother until his Fairy Godmother Eames shows up to help.





	Arthur's Fairy-tail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youcantsaymylastname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcantsaymylastname/gifts).



> This is for the wonderful @youcantsaymylastname who graciously let me take her idea of Fairy Godmother Eames and run with it. Thank you so much for all your love and support over the years!
> 
> This is also the the Fairytale AU sqaure on my 2018 Inception Trope Bingo Card.

Arthur’s hands curled into fists as he watched the carriage disappear over the hill, his composure as tattered as the vintage plaid suit he wore. He’d saved it when his father died; hid it from the liquidator his step-mother brought in the minute her husband’s body had gone cold. She’d sold off everything in the manor that would turn a coin. Everything except Arthur. 

 

“Couldn’t get anything for you, anyway,” she sneered just yesterday. “Useless lump you are. Think you’re owed the world cos you were born into a title. Well, that title’s as worthless as you are, now, innit? 

 

The title, the lands, even the manor itself, all used up and dried out thanks to that woman. She’d been a perfect lady of good breeding when his father brought her home, doting on Arthur and encouraging her twins to welcome him into their fold. But when his father died suddenly, she fired the staff and forced Arthur into a live of servitude and loneliness.

 

For five long years, Arthur had toiled in despair, doing his best to keep himself alive while the others feasted on his misery. The Royal Ball had been his chance at escape. He didn’t plan on winning the heart of the Princess and being whisked away, he just wanted to speak to Lord Fischer, his late father’s friend and confidante. To ask if there was anything he could do to regain power of the estate from his blasted step-witch. He wanted his home back. The one his parents had built together with love and respect. 

 

But somehow his stepmother had discovered his plan and ripped what little hope he had right out of his hands. They’d shredded his suit with their nails, his courage with their words, and for the first time in five years, Arthur allowed himself to cry. He sunk to the steps of the manor, great sobs wracking his body as he mourned the life he had lost. Hope was now a burned out husk in his heart, black and crumbling to dust with every shaking breath.

 

Across the fields the sun touched the horizon and Arthur made a wish. 

 

“I wish for happiness,” he whispered desperately. “In any form, I just want to be happy.”

 

He laid his head to the steps, shivering in the sudden wind, not noticing the sparks that danced on the breeze.

 

“Come now, it can’t be all bad,” a voice said from above him. 

 

Arthur startled and jumped to his feet, embarrassed to have been caught in a moment of weakness. He gaped at the man before him.

 

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, eyeing the man’s billowy cloak with distaste. It was bright yellow seemed to float around his person as though it had a mind of its own.

 

“Why, I’m your Fairy Godmother!” the man proclaimed with a swish of the stick in his hand.

 

“You’re a man,” Arthur pointed out, quite shocked out of his sadness.

 

“And you’re mighty presumptuous for someone making desperate wishes on a sunset.”

 

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Are you not a man then?”

 

“I am,” he allowed with a nod. “But one must never assume, dear Arthur.”

 

“How do you know my name?” Arthur asked, taking a step back.

 

The man rolled his eyes. “Fairy Godmother, remember? Why would I not know your name?”

 

“If you’re a man, why aren’t you my Fairy Godfather?”

 

“Fairy Godfather?” the man laughed. “Who ever heard of a Fairy Godfather? How ridiculous a notion, pet! Sounds sinister, that.  _ Fairy GODFATHER _ !” he said in a deep, ringing voice.

 

“Sorry, I’m rather new to all this,” Arthur said dryly.

 

“Well, technically so am I,” he admitted with a wink. “But if we’re gentle with each other I’m sure we’ll make do.”

 

Arthur flushed at the words, his mind conjuring something quite inappropriate having to do with the man’s ridiculously plush lips.

 

“Now, let’s get started, shall we? Time is running low.” 

 

“Wait—,” Arthur called out, reaching for the cloak as the man turned to walk off. “Um, what do I call you?”

 

“Oh! Heaven’s me, I forgot that part. Name’s Eames, darling,” he said, offering his broad hand to Arthur. The moment Arthur’s slender fingers slid into Eames’, there was a tug and they were transported to the garden at the back of the manor.

 

“What the fuck was that?” Arthur shouted, shaking from the shock.

 

“Just a sampling of what I can do,” Eames grinned, putting his crooked front tooth on display. “In case you were doubting me.”

 

“Please don’t do that again,” Arthur begged.

 

Eames laughed darkly. “Oh darling, we’ve only just begun.”

 

An hour and three terrible suits later, the novelty of magic had quite worn off and Arthur and Eames shouted at each other loud enough to make any nearby animals scurry off in fear.

 

“How dare you insult my imagination?” Eames roared, his cloak twitching where had draped itself over a low branch to watch the show. 

 

“I’m not, I’m insulting your terrible taste,” Arthur told him primly, dragging his eyes away from the trackpants that hugged Eames’ thick thighs. He’d discarded the cloak early on, when he declared Arthur ‘difficult’, revealing the slick black trousers and a short-sleeved, button up with flamingos on it.

 

“My taste is impeccable,” Eames informed him. “I picked you, didn’t I?”

 

“Did you, or was being assigned me a punishment of some sort?”

 

Eames straightened up and blinked owlishly. “Darling, no. You were my first choice.”

 

“Really?” Arthur asked, perplexed.

 

“Had to fight for you, too. I owe Yusuf down in Dream Acquisition an abhorrent amount of dragon scales for you.”

 

“Oh. Well, um, thank you?” Arthur said, feeling strangely heated.

 

“Look, we’re running out of time and we need to get you to the ball. You didn’t like the webbed jacket—”

 

“I looked like a dejected man-spider.”

 

“And you hated the one with the goldfish—”

 

“Fish belong in ponds, not on formal attire, Eames.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Even I’ll admit the double-breasted on wasn’t for you—”

 

“It had cut-off sleeves and shorts!”

 

“Let’s give it one more go, and if you still hate it, I’ll let you choose, yeah?” Eames offered.

 

“Fine, just get it over with,” Arthur grumbled, holding still.

 

The now familiar shower of golden sparks burst out of Eames’ wand, falling over Arthur’s head and making his skin tingle as the smell of ozone and sweetpeas tickled his nose. When he opened his eyes, Eames’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

 

“What? What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, looking down at himself. “Oh.”

 

He was dressed in an emerald sheath dress, long and silken, and hugging him in all the right places. 

 

“Not quite what I had in mind, but it will certainly turn heads,” he said, admiring the curve of his bottom in the mirror Eames had conjured.

 

Eames made a choking noise waved his wand, returning Arthur’s dress to the underclothes he had been wearing. “Er, that’s not right, I mean, it’s too...too much. Too noticeable. You need to blend in. Not that you really ever could with your soulful eyes and those adorable crooked little ears, but you’re there to speak with Lord Fischer, not seduce him. Right?”

 

“Right,” Arthur affirmed. “Perhaps that was a little much.”

 

“I think I’ve got it now,” Eames declared, rising to his full height and swishing his wand in the air.

 

When the sparks faded, Arthur looked in the mirror and smiled. A tuxedo jacket in a deep blue velvet lay perfectly across his shoulders, framing a crisp white shirt and a black bowtie adorned with gold flecks reminiscent of Eames’ magic. Black trousers made his legs look long and slim, and the gold oxfords sparkled even in the gloom of the evening.

 

“Eames,” Arthur breathed. “I am impressed.”

 

“Your condensation, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur, thank you,” Eames drawled. “Now, for transport.”

 

“You’re not just going to magic me to the Palace?”

 

“No, darling, you need a carriage. You think the guards are going to let in some stranger who  _ walks _ up to the entrance?”

 

Arthur nodded, conceding the point. “We’ve only the one carriage now and my stepmonster took it.”

 

“After all we’ve been through and you still doubt me,” Eames said, clutching his chest. “I’m wounded.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “No you’re not.”

 

“No, I’m not,” Eames agreed. “Heaven help me, but I  _ like _ proving myself to you over and over again, you little terror. Now, what have we to work with out here, any pumpkins?”

 

“No, one of the devil twins is allergic so we don’t grow them.”

 

“That’s fine, purple is a better colour than orange, anyway,” Eames muttered, tracing circles in the air with his wand until he’d enlarged an eggplant to the size of a small shed.

 

“I’d say you’re compensating for something, but those trousers hide nothing,” Arthur noted with a smirk.

 

“Oh, hush, you,” Eames admonished, but Arthur saw the pleased look in his eyes. “There, how’s that?”

 

“Not the usual shape of a carriage,” Arthur told him, walking around the transformed eggplant. “But somehow fitting.”

 

“Excellent! Now for your attendants,” he clapped his hands together and three of the mousing cats appeared in front of the carriage. In the blink of an eye Eames had shifted the cats in to svelte and winsome young men with green eyes and a sharpness to their smiles that was almost too dangerous.

 

“They’re prettier than I am,” Arthur commented.

 

“Now, now, darling, you’re not there to flirt, remember? Besides, they’ll keep the guards occupied if trouble arises.”

 

“What about a horse? Herbert is the only one left behind and he’s too old to pull something as big as that,” he said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder at the carriage.

 

“Hmm, have you an ass?” Eames asked.

 

“In these trousers, I’d say so.”

 

“Charming, but not what I meant,” Eames smirked. “I can’t make something out of nothing, Arthur, I need an animal to transform.”

 

“No donkey, but there’s a goat in the back pasture. Long in the tooth and as thick-headed and a rock.”

 

“Perfect!” Eames exclaimed, clapping his hands once more to make the goat appear. It stood, chewing some blades of grass and looking supremely uninterested in the proceedings.

 

“On second thought, the goat may not be the best choice,” Arthur said, but it was too late and Eames flicked his wrist, casting sparks over the ornery creature. It bleated in anger, growing and twisting into the shape of a giant black Percheron.

 

“See? Perfect!” Eames exclaimed a moment before the goat-horse tried to flatten him under its hooves. 

 

“Change it back! Change it back!” Arthur shouted.

 

“Now you listen here, you damned animal,” Eames told the goat-beast. “You will calm down and do as I say or I’ll turn you into a mouse and feed you to the attendants!”

 

The cat-men in question licked their lips in unison and Arthur stepped further away, shuddering.

 

The goat-horse huffed an angry breath, but allowed himself to be bridled. When Eames was done, he helped Arthur into the carriage.

 

“You’re not coming with me?” Arthur asked, feeling panicked at the thought of being on his own in his mission.

 

“Course not, I’d steal the show, darling,” Eames grinned up at him, oblivious to the goat-horse behind him who was trying to chew on the cloak, still perched in the tree. Something the cloak was having no part of as it bobbed and swiped at the animal.

 

“What if I can’t speak with Lord Fischer? What if I can and there’s nothing to be done? What if one of them recognizes me?” Arthur asked, gripping Eames hand through the window of the carriage.

 

“You won’t know until you try, Arthur. And you won’t be able to live with yourself if you stay here and do nothing. Go, and find your happiness,” Eames urged him.

 

“RIght. Yes. I can do this,” Arthur nodded. “WIll I see you again?”

 

There was sadness in Eames’ smile, but he hid it well. “You won’t need me after tonight, darling. One way or another, my work will be done.”

 

Arthur frowned, staring at their hands clasped together. “What if I want to see you? I mean, you’re not all bad; this suit is sublime.”

 

Eames laughed, patting Arthur’s cheek. “You’ll barely remember me come morning, I’m sure of it. Now, go on and be home one hour past midnight, no later.”

 

The carriage jerked into motion and Arthur had to stick his head out the window to respond. “Why not midnight? In the stories it’s always midnight.”

 

Eames wrinkled his nose. “Most parties only start to get good at midnight. I’m strict with my rules, darling, but I’m not cruel!”

 

“Thank you!” Arthur shouted as the carriage took him further and further away from Eames. “I mean it, thank you, Eames!”

 

Eames’ response floated to him on the air as the man himself faded and vanished into the night air. “Anything for you, darling.”

 

Much to his surprise, the guards at the palace gave no notice to the odd shape of Arthur’s carriage. They were too intent of the captivating movements of the cat-men as they helped Arthur disembark. No one even asked him for his invitation (which was fortunate as he didn’t have one), just ushered him up the stairs. The other guests had long since been announced and avoiding the valet worked with his plan of not being discovered, so he slipped through the lobby and walked in with a party returning from one of the side parlors.

 

The ballroom was resplendent and just as interesting as he remembered from his childhood. The design was not typical of the times and gave the feeling that it was a projection of the future. All bold, clear lines and vibrant colours, broken up by curved elements and monolithic designs. Arthur had always loved it and had hoped to one day renovate the manor house in the same manner. But that was before his parents died and left a snake in their stead.

 

Arthur searched the room as best he could without drawing attention to himself, hoping for a glimpse of not only Lord Fischer, but his wicked family as well. Best to know where you enemies lie, after all. The children of the corn were snickering to each other by the refreshments table, a simpering devotee on each of their arms. They may be morons and utter shites, but they looked good, and Arthur knew that was enough for most people.

 

He couldn’t find the hellbeast herself, but he did catch sight of Lord Fischer dancing with the Duchess of Cobol. Just as he made to move closer, a strong hand clamped onto his elbow and towed him behind a curtain

 

“I know you,” a voice whispered in the dark and Arthur’s heart beat double time.

 

“No you don’t,” he responded childishly.

 

His companion stepped into the light provided by a small gap in the curtains and he pressed his hand to his mouth.

 

“My apologizes, your Highness,” he blurted, trying to drop to one knee in the small space.

 

“Oh stop it, Arthur!” she hissed, pulling him back to her feet.

 

“You—you remember me?” he asked, flumoxed.

 

Princess Ariadne laughed. “Of course I do! You were the only one who could beat me the top of the clock tower.”

 

“WIth a handful of acorns, no less,” he added, grinning helplessly. “Princess, it’s so good to see you.”

 

“And you, Arthur,” Ariadne said, taking hold of his hand. “Tell me, when did you return from abroad? I wrote to you when your father died, but you never wrote back. And that’s fine, of course, I cannot imagine how difficult that must have been. I so regret not being here for you then.”

 

“You were in Cambria,” Arthur said slowly. “I remember being sad when you left because summer was to be no fun without you.”

 

“I was fourteen and it was time for me to become a lady.” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Whatever that means.”

 

“And did you never wonder what happened to me?” Arthur asked quietly. At first he’d been certain his friends, or his father’s business partners would question his sudden disappearance, but no one ever came looking for him. It was like he was just...forgotten.

 

“You left for France,” Ariadne said with certainty. “To your mother’s people. Your stepmother told us so.”

 

“I did no such thing!” he protested.

 

“Arthur, there was a letter. My uncle saw it and deemed it authentic. It said you were taking your wealth and your title to France where you wouldn’t be reminded of everything you lost. It was out of character, yes, but understandable with the grief you were carrying.”

 

“My god,” Arthur said, slumping against the stone wall. “The bitch thought of everything, didn’t she? How long had she been planning this?”

 

“Arthur, do you mean to say that isn’t where you went? What on earth happened to you, then?”

 

“I’ve been kept as a servant, Ari. Forced to cook and clean, and do anything else my father’s wife and her vile offspring demand. They’ve sold off half the estate and nearly everything in the house to keep themselves in society, only there’s nothing left now and they’re starting to panic. They’ve come looking to make a marriage or two, and I know for certain they’ve got their eye on you.”

 

Ariadne made a gagging noise and it warmed Arthur’s heart. “Ugh, never. Those two are slicker than oil and dumber than posts.”

 

“God, it’s good to see you again,” Arthur told her sincerely.

 

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so sorry to have failed you in this. I should have searched for you in France, made sure you were alright.”

 

“You couldn’t have known, and she covered her tracks well. She must have been planning it since the beginning, since before she married my father.”

 

“Do you think,” Ariadne said slowly. “It’s possible she murdered your father?”

 

“I’m sure of it,” Arthur told her, trying to contain his rage. 

 

“What do we do now? How can I assist you?”

 

“I need to speak with Lord Fischer. He was my father’s closest friend and knew what the will stated before she changed it. Perhaps there’s some way to reverse what she’s done. Surely matricide voids her claim to the lands and title.”

 

“But she doesn’t have a title,” Ariadne said.

 

“Of course she does, she claimed it when my father died.”

 

“No, Arthur, she couldn’t have. She told everyone you took your money  _ and _ your title to France. She lost the rank of Lady the moment your father passed. No matter what she claims, you are the Lord and Master of Paradox.”

 

Arthur ran his fingers through his hair and pulled sharply at the strands. “God, I’ve been so stupid.”

 

“No, my dear, you were hurt and in mourning. And I doubt she wasted any time in getting you shackled and hidden, am I right?”

 

“I was crying over my father’s body when they came in. I thought they were there to comfort me, but the tied my hands and threw me in the cellar until after the funeral. I could hear everyone above me at the wake, honouring my father and not one person asked after me.”

 

Ariadne’s hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “We all thought you’d gone by then. Oh, Arthur, I am so sorry.”

 

“I need to speak to Lord Fischer. If he’s still an honourable man, he’ll help me.”

 

“He is, and he will. Come, follow me.” Ariadne took his hand and pushed against one of the stones in the wall behind them. The stone shifted and the wall opened into a small walkway. They followed it for a few minutes until they came to another hidden doorway, this one opened with a sharp turn of a sconce on the wall. When the door swung open, they stepped into the antechamber of the King’s study.

 

“Are we supposed to be in here?” he asked in a hushed voice.

 

“I’m the future Queen, I’m allowed to be everywhere,” she told him primly, going to open the main door. “Sir Nash, please fetch Lord Fischer and bring him to me here. Tell no one else of your errand.”

 

The knight nodded and hurried off.

 

“Nash?” Arthur pondered. “As in the scrawny little runt who never kept up and tattled to the cook when we stole sweets? He’s a knight now?”

 

Ariadne grinned. “A good one, too. Father favours him a little since he uncovered a plot to kidnap me. He’s still scrawny, but he’s also learned to be quick and quiet, and the only one he tattles to now is father, so it works in our favour.”

 

“I’ve been gone too long,” Arthur said.

 

“You haven’t been gone, Arthur, you were taken. I mean to right that immediately.” Her voice was hard, her back straight, and in that moment Arthur saw the fire in Princess Ariadne that would one day make her a formidable Queen.

 

He struck his fist against his chest and bowed formally. “My liege.”

 

Ariadne cuffed him upside the head. “Save it, we’ll have time for you to pledge your undying love for me later. Right now, we need a plan to expose your supposed family.”

 

There was a knock at the door and Lord Fischer strode in, followed closely by his son, Robert.

 

“Brought both, just in case, Your Highness,” Nash said, slipping back out through the door without so much as a squeak from his armour.

 

“Arthur?” Lord Fischer asked with clear surprise. “Dear boy, is it good to see you!”

 

Lord Fischer embraced him and though it was presumptuous and over-familiar, Arthur sunk into it, his own arms coming up to hold the man. Lord Fischer’s hand squeezed the back of his neck and Arthur let out a quiet sob. It had been so long since he’d been touched. Even longer since he’d been held by someone who made him feel safe.

 

“My apologies,” Arthur murmured, pulling away to wipe his eyes. “It’s been a trying day.”

 

“Nonsense, Arthur, we are overjoyed to have you home at last,” Robert Fischer assured him.

 

“Speaking of home,” Ariadne broke in. “Arthur’s got quite the tale to tell.”

 

And so he told it. Every last instance of abuse and dirty dealing he’d suffered and bore witness to over the years, all perpetrated by his Stepmother and her children. All meant to advance their own position at the expense of others.

 

By the end, Robert was scandalized, the Princess looked vaguely ill, and Lord Fischer resembled a man about to start on the path to war.

 

“We must go about this carefully,” Lord Fischer advised them. “We need proof.”

 

Arthur nodded. “She keeps a ledger in her desk drawer. I can get it.” 

 

“We should go there now,” Robert said.

 

“They’ll be hanged by morning,” Ariadne agreed.

 

Lord Fischer shook his head “No, give me a day to arrange things. They’ve no doubt got a noble or two in their pocket and we need the evidence before we have them arrested.”

 

“Lord Browning has been around quite a bit lately,” Arthur told them. “I’ve been forced to remain in the kitchen whenever he’s there. He brings her trinkets and simpers all over her lying face.”

 

“Lord Browning is my wife’s brother,” Lord Fischer said, his voice laced with anger.

 

“And is well known for his unscrupulous business dealings, Father. Whereas Arthur is the child you swore to watch over and dandled on your knee alongside your own flesh and blood. He bears the scars of his ill fortune and has come to you for help,” Robert reminded him.

 

“Yes, yes, I know,” Lord Fischer sighed. “I only hope to spare your mother any misery. In any case, Paradox is yours, Arthur. The land and the title all passed to you when your father died. There was no will, but—”

 

“Of course there’s a will, she keeps it in the ledger,” Arthur interrupted. “She gloats about how Father left everything to her whenever she feels I’m getting ‘heirs’.”

 

“She’s kept it hidden, then, because I guarantee your father left everything to you, son. I witnessed its signing a month before your father passed, when he first fell ill.”

 

“That bitch!” Ariadne spit, stomping her foot.

 

“Even if she’s sold most of it off, what’s left is yours and you’re well within your rights to cast her out without any proof of wrongdoing,” Robert assured him.

 

Arthur nodded, weighing his options. “Be that as it may, I need to know, once and for all, if she murdered my father. And if she did, I want her punished for it. She stole my life from me, Lord Fischer, and I mean to reclaim all of it I can.”

 

“Very well, Arthur, then we need that ledger. Can you—”

 

Nash burst into the antechamber, lowering his head in apology. “Pardon the interruption, Princess, but the Lady of Paradox has taken her leave. I thought you’d like to know, considering your company.”

 

“Shit, I need to beat them home,” Arthur said, flying to the door.

 

“Wait, there’s a faster way,” Ariadne told him, reopening the secret door. “Nash, get him to his carriage as fast as you can.”

 

“We will wait for word from you of the ledger,” Robert told him.

 

“Give me twenty-four hours. If you haven’t received the ledger or further word from me…” Arthur looked from one worried face to another, feeling their dread. “Come for my body.”

 

And with that he was running, following Nash’s almost silent lead through narrow, zig-zagging corridors until they spilled out into the night air. Arthur’s carriage was nearby, one of the cat-men leaping after lightning bugs while the other two lazed about. The clock tower chimed for the three-quarter hour and Arthur sprang into action, running for the carriage. It was a thirty minute ride back to Paradox on the main road, but they could make it in twenty if they went the back way. It’s not like he needed to worry about preserving the carriage beyond tonight; it would all revert back to normal in fifteen minutes.

 

He tripped in the long grass beside beside the castle, one of his golden shoes slipping off, but he didn’t have time to go back for it, even if it meant walking the last leg of the journey in his socks. If he didn’t make it back to the manor before the others, he wouldn’t live to see morning.

 

The cat-lads leapt to attention at Arthur’s approach, hauling him inside and setting off for the manor as though the devil himself were after them. They nearly made it, too, the goat-horse moving faster than Arthur thought possible as he bounced around with every pothole and wheel rut they refused to let slow them down. By the time the carriage started to darken and shrink around him, Arthur could see the spires of his home. His. Home. For the first time in years, Arthur felt hope at those words. 

 

He leapt from the carriage as the wheels disappeared and the eggplant rolled over the terrain, breaking up and splattering the hem of his tattered plaid suit. The cats and the goat kept pace beside him as he ran, praying for a delay on the main road. He’d cleared the back hedge when he heard his name called, high and angry. Instead of the cold bumps and dread he usually felt when he was called by the woman, it spurred him on, knowing it would be one of, if not the last time he’d hear it.

 

Later that night, once he’d cleaned and put away their party clothes and tucked their drunk arses into bed, Arthur snuck back into his step-mother’s chambers, searching for the ledger. Her desk was locked, and he quickly looked for something to pick it, but he’s a Lord-turned-servant, and he’s no Nash, so when he toppled over a stack of correspondence, which in turn sent a teacup clattering to the thin carpet, the blasted woman sat up in bed and let out a blood curdling scream. Tweedledum and Tweedledee locked him in the cellar despite his protestations that he was simply gathering dirty dishes for washing. They accused him of stealing coins for various inappropriate dealings, and left him in darkness.

 

Arthur realized they didn’t accuse him of searching for the ledger, though they know he knows of it, and it occurred to him that they thought him cowed. That he wouldn’t think of outing them as the rascals they are, even though he dreamed nightly of doing just that. They saw themselves as having already won. Of being beyond approach. Arthur laughed. He laughed and laughed until the sun came up and they shouted at him to stop, and then he laughed some more. Because he told Lord Fischer to wait twenty-four hours, and the cavalry was coming.

 

His voice was naught but a rough whisper by the time the knock came, hard and loud enough that Arthur heard it clearly through the crack in the cellar door. There was a heralding, and a lot of rushing, and then Princess Ariadne’s voice was demanding to see the men of the house.  _ All _ the men of the house.

 

Arthur pressed his ear to the hatch that led to the kitchen, but he could barely make out what was happening. Had Ariadne not come to free him? There was something about a shoe and this address written inside, and then the blockhead twins were arguing and something started to beat against the cellar door.

 

“What is that?” he heard Ariadne ask, followed by his step-mother’s insistence that she heard nothing despite the clear sound of breaking wood. 

 

Arthur stood back as the cellar door exploded inward and the goat tumbled through, shaking its head as thought trying to clear it. Arthur stared, dumbfoundead, until the goat bleated angrily at him and he shoved his way through the broken door. He snuck through the kitchen and into the parlor where the others were gathered.

 

“The shoe clearly doesn’t belong to either of you,” Ariadne said dismissively. “Where is the Lord of the Manor?”

 

The step-bitch sniffled. “He passed some years ago, Your Highness, my dear husb—”

 

“I mean Arthur. Where is Arthur?” The Princess interrupted.

 

“That villain!” Thing One shouted, beating his thigh with his fist. “He up and left with everything he could fit in his saddle. Left us with nothing but a roof over our heads.”

 

Arthur stayed quiet and hidden, wanting to see just how badly they would cast him.

 

“Your dear brother was in mourning,” his step-mother simpered. “He was just a boy and he didn’t know what he was doing.”

 

“And now?” Thing Two asked, standing to pace the room. “Now that he’s a man and grown and still leaves us with nothing? Our father died too.”

 

And that was about all Arthur could take. “He was  _ not your father _ !” He boomed, bursting through the parlor doors.

 

“What are you doing out?” Thing Two demanded.

 

“Here? What are you doing here, dear Arthur!” his step-mother recovered, shoving her son out of the way. “Oh how we’ve missed you!”

 

“Don’t touch me,” Arthur warned her as she neared and for the first time, she looked worried.

 

“But Arthur, we’re so happy to have you back with us. No hard feelings, eh? What’s in the past is past.”

 

“I will never forgive you for what you’ve done,” Arthur swore, holding his body so stiff his joints ached.

 

“For what I’ve done? I cared for you! I treated you as my own child! You left us with nothing!”

 

“Wow, she really can sell it, can’t she?” Ariadne asked, raising her eyebrows.

 

Arthur nodded. “I did warn you.”

 

“What? When? What’s going on?” the blasted woman demanded, looking between them.

 

“Ah, Lord Paradox,” Robert greeted as he walks through the door. “Excellent. I have some papers for you to sign. When your father died we were not able to locate his will, so we weren’t able to read it and award you your inheritance.”

 

“Inheritance?” his step-mother shrieked. “He forfeit his inheritance when he ran off and left us with nothing. He doesn’t get to waltz back in and claim anything as his.”

 

“Technically, he doesn’t have to claim it, it’s his regardless,” Robert explained with a wide smile and a wave of the paper in question. 

 

“Where did you get that?” she demanded, reaching for it.

 

“Oh this?” Robert asked, frowning. “Found it in the yard.”

 

“Found it in the— you scoundrel, you’ve stolen it!” she shrieked.

 

From the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Nash slip down the backstairs with the ledger in his hand, and felt like he was free to draw a full breath for the first time since the day his father died.

 

“The Sheriff has arrived, Your Highness,” Nash said from directly behind the Grady Twins, startling them.

 

“Excellent,” Ariadne said brightly, clapping her hands together. “I trust you’ll all come boorishly? Lord Paradox was a good friend of my parents and I know our guards are itching to take out King Saito’s anger on the ones responsible for the death of a noble, so please, do struggle.”

 

“We didn’t do nothin’!” the twins protested, backing away from the guards pouring into the manor.

 

“This ledger says differently,” Robert said, taking it from Nash. “We have all the proof we need to see you hung by sundown.”

 

In the end, they went quietly. It was, after all, difficult to argue when you are unconscious. Arthur felt a satisfying sense of ease at the sound of the lock on the Sheriff’s wagon and he and Ariadne stood to watch until it disappeared down the road.

 

“I hope you’re not waiting for me to propose,” the Princess said casually. “I missed you terribly, but you’re not really my type.”

 

Arthur laughed heartily despite his protesting throat. “Worry not, my interests lie elsewhere.”

 

“Have anyone in mind?” she asked with a sly smile.

 

“Perhaps,” he allowed.

 

“Who? Is it anyone I know? How can I help?”

 

Arthur grinned at her, but shook his head. “This I must do on my own, but let’s just say it’s going to take a little magic to work things out.”

 

3 Months Later…

 

The manor was starting to show signs of love and attention once again under Arthur’s care. There was a little money from the stipend his title allowed him that his late step-mother wasn’t able to touch, and it was enough to keep the roof from leaking while Arthur reacquainted himself to what being a member of society entailed. 

 

King Saito had welcomed him back to court and Princess Ariadne and Robert were helping him explore what options were open to him. A Lord was more than a title, after all. One must strive to support and advance those less fortunate, and Arthur was determined that no one should have to endure what he had. Robert suggested setting up an office to help those fleeing such abuse and cruelty and Arthur couldn’t think of a better way to breathe new life into the manor than to actually bring lives into it. People who needed a home, or a place to breathe until they found the strength to move on. Somewhere they could learn a new skill. Some place they could find hope again.

 

Arthur stood at the bottom of the back steps, watching the cats hunting in the garden and the goat chewing on what was once one of his step-witch’s prize hats, and he smiled. He was almost as happy as he could be. He almost had everything.

 

So, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky turned a violent, spectacular shade of orange, Arthur made a wish. 

 

“Getting a bit greedy, are we?” Eames asked from where he was laying across the lip of the broken fountain.

 

Arthur couldn’t help the smile that stole over his face at the sight of the other man. His clothes were still mismatched, his mouth was still obscene, and the yellow cloak was still protesting the position it was forced into, but he was just as bright and wonderful as Arthur remembered.

 

“Are you not Lord of the manor and rid of your terrible family?” Eames continued, swinging is legs to the ground and standing up. “You’ve got your legacy and your big house, your whole future ahead of you, Arthur, what more could you want?”

 

Eames looked genuinely curious, and a little put out, as though Arthur’s desire for more was a failure on Eames’ part. A poor reflection on the wish he’d granted.

 

“I do have those things,” Arthur agreed, closing the distance between them until he could take hold of Eames’ hands. “All that and more.”

 

Eames frowned at him.

 

“But all those things mean nothing without someone to love by my side.”

 

The goat rubbed up against Arthur’s knee and bleated. Eames glanced down and raised his eyebrows. “Ah, Arthur… darling, that’s not exactly, I mean, I can’t just, it wouldn’t—

 

“Jesus krispies, Eames, not the goat!” Arthur laughed. “You! I love you! I want you! I wished for  _ you _ .”

 

Eames’ eyes were as big as saucers, but his body swayed closer to Arthur’s. “You have no idea how happy I am that it’s not the goat,” he breathed before pulling Arthur into a kiss so passionate the cherry blossom trees in the yard burst into flower, shed their petals, and turned green all in the span of half of minute. Arthur laughed at the blizzard of pink falling around them and kissed Eames again.

 

And they lived happily ever after on Arthur’s father’s land, sheltering, teaching, supporting, loving, and occasionally granting wishes to those who needed them.

  
  



End file.
